


how i always loved you darling

by dorothymcshane



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas Dinner, F/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothymcshane/pseuds/dorothymcshane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara and Twelve are almost killed by the Daleks, and then Twelve has Christmas dinner with Clara’s family. The latter is probably scarier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how i always loved you darling

It’s Christmas day and Clara’s sitting with her back against the door of the TARDIS, her heart beating loudly and irregularly in her chest, her cheeks stained with tears. She and the Doctor were supposed to go on a quick trip to a Christmas themed bar on a planet with a name too long even for the Doctor to memorise, but then it turned out that the Daleks had invaded the planet a couple of years earlier, and now the Doctor is trapped by them. Clara managed to escape, and the last thing he told her was to use the TARDIS to go home, back to London in two thousand and fourteen, back to her job and her family and men whom she will never love as much as him. He told her to leave him there to die. He told her that his time had finally run out. That he was over two thousand years old, that he had lived long enough, that she shouldn’t worry about him, but the fear in his eyes betrayed every single one of his words.

   She can’t leave. She knows that the Daleks will find the TARDIS if she stays here, as she doesn’t have the faintest clue about how to turn the invisibility shield on. She knows that she will die, too, and she knows that the Doctor would hate her for dying because of him. But then again, he won’t ever know, as he’ll be dead, too, so does it really matter?

   Does anything really matter?

   Then the door is flung open and the Doctor stumbles in through it. His breathing is ragged, his hair tousled and his arms are covered in marks from his chains. “Don’t you ever listen to anything I tell you?”

   The fear in his eyes is replaced by a burning anger, and it’s the most beautiful thing Clara has ever seen.

   “No,” she says and throws her arms around him.

   “You know how much I hate the hugging,” he mumbles against her hair, but he doesn’t pull away. She might be wrong, but it feels like he’s actually drawing her closer to him.

   “So, Christmas dinner with my family?” Clara asks him, still with her head against his chest.

   The Doctor suddenly seems to come to his senses again, and lets Clara go before reaching for one of the levers on the console. “Christmas dinner with your family, it is.”

   Clara follows him with her gaze. “And you’re definitely wearing clothes this time? Real clothes? That everybody can see?”

   She thinks she can see his mouth twitch. “Come and check, if you want to.”

   She certainly wouldn’t mind taking him up on his offer, but forces herself to grimace at him, because he’s the Doctor, and she’s Clara, and he’s not her boyfriend, and never ever will be. “Just wanted to make sure.”

   “Christmas day, year two thousand and fourteen,” the Doctor says, walking past her towards the door of the TARDIS. His trousers are stained with dirt and he’s lost his coat somewhere back at the planet, so he looks a little funnily dressed for a Christmas dinner, but it will have to do.

   The Doctor’s parked the TARDIS between two rose bushes in the garden of Clara’s dad’s house. It’s freezing outside and the ground is covered by a thin layer of snow.

   “What the hell have the two of you been up to?” is the first question Clara’s dad asks them when he’s opened the door for them. “No, wait, don’t tell me, I don’t think I want to know.”

   Clara glances down towards her tattered dress, which she had completely forgotten about. She supposes her cheeks must be stained with mascara, as well, and she doesn’t even want to think about what her hair looks like. “It’s not what you think. Really.”

   “Merry Christmas,” the Doctor says, reaching for one of her dad’s hands to shake it. “I’m the Doctor.”

   Clara’s dad raises his eyebrows. “Another doctor?”

   “Yes,” Clara says, before taking off her shoes and entering the house.

   “It’s her type,” she can hear the Doctor telling her dad behind her back.

   “Clara!” Linda exclaims when Clara turns up in the kitchen. She’s wearing a red paper hat from a cracker which matches her lipstick. “You look terrible!”

   “I know, I know,” Clara says, settling down at the table, filling her plate with turkey and vegetables. “It’s a long story.”

   “And where is this new boyfriend of yours?” her grandmother asks with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

   “He’s gossiping about me with dad.”

   The Doctor chooses the same moment to turn up in the doorway to the room together with Clara’s dad.

   “Oh, hello there,” Clara’s grandmother says. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

   “Merry Christmas,” the Doctor says, and shakes one of her hands before he settles down on the chair next to Clara’s.

 

 

The Christmas dinner is long and boring and exactly what Clara needs to calm herself down after the other events of the afternoon. The Doctor answers every stupid question her father and Linda ask him without resorting to sarcasm and even though Clara can see the scepticism in their eyes at first, they slowly seem to relax and stop looking for reasons to dislike him. After the dinner, they end up in front of the television in the living room, while Clara and her grandmother are doing the dishes in the kitchen.

   “This … Doctor,” her grandmother says. “It’s _him_ , isn’t it? The same man as last year.”

   Clara looks down at her hands, which are covered in bubbles from the dish soap. “What are you talking about?”

   “I know he doesn’t look like him, and he doesn’t … act like him, either, but you don’t have to lie to me, Clara, I already know it’s him.”

   “How?” Clara asks her, her voice trembling.

   “The way you look at him,” she says. “I’ve never seen you look at anyone else like that.”

 

 

“My gran,” Clara says, later that evening, when she’s sitting in one of the chairs in the console room of the TARDIS, slowly spinning around in it, “she knew it was you. _You_ , I mean. The same person as last year.”

   “I’m not surprised,” the Doctor says, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the console. He seems to be unable to relax after the evening, and has been pacing around the console room for about half an hour. “She’s an intelligent woman.”

   “Yeah,” Clara says, fumbling with the rings on her fingers. “She is.”

   “You look troubled,” the Doctor says, focusing his gaze on her.

   “Did you enjoy the dinner?” Clara asks him in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. It’s not that she doesn’t want to tell him about what’s really bothering her, but after pretending that all of their stolen glances and instinctive touches haven’t meant anything for so, so long, it’s painfully hard to admit that they might have been more than coincidences.

   “I would be lying if I said I did,” the Doctor admits with a throaty laugh, “but, well, I’ve had worse Christmases. At least you were there with me.” He takes a deep breath and the turns his gaze back towards the console. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

   “I think I’ve had enough of adventure for today.”

   “And yet you’re still here.”

   “I am,” Clara says, and it’s only two words, but maybe they tell him everything he needs to know.


End file.
